


Perhaps.

by plinys



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 02:11:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11430990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: There is only one bath at the Inn.





	Perhaps.

**Author's Note:**

> I got prompted for this over on tumblr, and like, am fudging with the canon context and obviously canon is going to joss this (tomorrow, probably) but until then. Enjoy some bathtub smut.

There’s only one bath at the Inn, but when the Innkeeper smiles at them in a knowing way and insists that that shouldn’t be a problem for a young couple. When Benvolio slides his arm around her waist possessively and agrees. She is forced into agreeing as well, lest they lose their cover.

Now though here.

With him.

It is different.

He has already made himself at home in the water, having no shame, whereas she still possesses some, stripping down into nothing and slipping into the hot water with ease. There’s something about it, the way he looks, half submerged, steam rising up around his features. She does not dwell on the way that image stirs something within her.

They’ve had a long day on the road, and she wants nothing more to be in that water, but the idea of being in the water with him is something she still hesitates over.

Unsure.

Unsteady.

“If you stand there all day the water will get cold,” he points out.

She’s almost tempted to accept that.

Would a cold bath not be better than one with him? 

She weighs the decision briefly. 

No, she needs this. 

The warm water will help clear the dirty from her skin and the ache from her bones and the weariness from her very soul. 

She turns away from him, as she removes her own clothes. It is a modicum of decency, as he will see her in all her glory when she turns around to join him in the water, but here she can look away from him, and pretend that this is not such a strange occurrence, that the two of them bound together as they are should not hesitate here before the water. 

Hesitating over their proximity. 

And yet, she still possesses a maiden's decency, even though her body wants for something more than that she cannot entirely explain. 

She does not look at him, as she turns around.

Does not look at him, as she settles into the water. 

The tub is not large enough that they can avoid contact, but she does her best to deliberately sit across from him, so that their bodies are in the least amount of contact. Though their eyes are forced to meet in this new position. 

There is color on his cheeks, color that cannot rise to hers, a flush that she is not sure if it is from the heat of the water or something else entirely. 

She feels that as well.

The urge for something else.

Something more. 

“You don’t have to be so stiff. Bath’s are about relaxing.” 

“They are,” she acknowledges, but does not release the tension in her shoulders. 

“Perhaps I could help you relax?” 

She jolts at the suggestion. That creeping feeling is back, the warm one that seems to rise up through her, not just the water. Something more than that, and she instictively licks her lips. An impulse that she cannot control. She does not miss the way his eyes are drawn to that impulse. 

She is not thinking when she speaks.

It is another impulse. 

A momentary lapse, caused by the proximity between them, and the curiosity - “Perhaps I would like that?”

There is movement. The splash of water spilling out from the tub as he shifts position so that they are closer together.

He hovers there above her, for a moment, so close that she wonders what comes next. 

If others in this circumstance know what to expect, and it is just her, so lost to this.

She is not used to being lost. Not used to being unsure of what to do. 

“May I kiss you?”

She has kissed before. 

This she knows. 

She is not that untouched, and technically they have, if one counts -

She nods her head, as better not to dwell on that situation, and he kisses her.

It is different from how she has been kissed before. There is heat there, passion. This is a man that kisses her because he wants to, not out of duty or obligation. Who kisses her open mouthed and hungry as though he wishes to consume her, as though he wants nothing more in the whole of human existence except for her.

They break apart for air and she can see she is not the only one that feels this way.

His eyes are dark on her, and she wants to kiss him again.

So she does. 

Again and again.

Until it becomes second nature.

Until it feels as though she has been doing this for years.

It is when things move from kissing that her hesitance returns.

His arms had been braced on the sides of the tub to prop him up above her, but one of those arms must move in the middle of their kissing, because she feels his hand against her body under the water, tracing down the curves of her, brushing over her breast.

She gasps into his mouth, pulling away from the kiss.

Her heart is beating a too fast rhythm. 

Fear maybe. 

Or desire.

She is unsure of her own body now.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you want me to stop,” he asks her, a question and not an answer.

The offer is there, but his hand is still heavy against her, holding her. Touching her in ways she has been uncertain she could be touched before. She knew in theory, and yet, this was different.

So much about this experience was different.

She did not imagine that she first time she would be naked with a man would be here in a tub in a inn well below their standards, pretending to be people that they’re not. And yet…

He must see he hesitance, because his hand moves away from her and she cannot help but make a noise at the loss.

“You’re a woman of contradictions.”

She is certain that is not a compliment. 

“I want to do this right, properly, if I’m going to,” she says slowly. She had never been one of those girls to lay in bed at night and fantasize about losing her maidenhood, even if she had it would not have been to a man like Benvolio Montague. Yet, now that she is here and the offer is there, she finds herself wanting something else, something proper. “I’d prefer it in a bed.” 

He nods his head, understanding.

She is understood by this man.

A concept she had never imagined.

“There are other things I can do to help you relax, other acts, ones without claiming, but no less  _ relaxing _ .” 

It is the way he says that word.

The one that makes her body arch towards him instinctively without thinking. 

“May I touch you?”

“You may,” she consents. 

He does not kiss her this time, maintain eyes contact, and she can see again the color that rises to his cheeks. Not from the heat this time, not as the water as begun to cool down around them, but because of her. She had not expected Benvolio to be the type of man to blush. 

Was that not the woman’s duty?

Perhaps he blushed since she could not.

Enough for the both of them.

His hand traces her body again. Soft sweeps, down her sides, up against her breasts once more. Two fingers pinch a nipple between them and she gasps again. A sensation she has never expected, but one that she wants him to repeat again. 

He reads her mind and does it to the other nipple.

An intimate touch.

But not as intimate as the one that follows.

His hand moving down her body, to the part of her that has always meant to belong to her husband, that the part of her that is her most guarded virtue.

His hand hesitates again, and when she nods, absently almost. Giving him the permission he requires of her. His hand moves to touch her.

It is a strange experience. She wonders why no one had ever warned her of this. For the feeling of his fingers on her, the way he could touch her just right which sent sparks up her spine, that burnt fire in her body degrees hotter than the water that they were laying in. 

And then, when those fingers were inside of her. 

She had not known.

Had been so naive to have never imagined this.

She needs to kiss him, desperately, needs some way to hide her face, to hide the expression of need and want that is consuming her.

When she says, “Benvolio,” he seems to understand her insistently.

His lips and hand seem to move in tandem, a perfect rhythm, a perfect understanding of how her body works. He has done this before, she knows this, with others, and yet she cannot think of how he has gained this experience. Cannot think of anything other than the experience that he is giving her. The sensation that she will not forget, the one that takes of her mind and body so completely. 

It is not relaxing.

Not really.

But rather it is awareness.

Her mind suddenly aware of her whole body. 

And of him.

Of his lips against hers as she turns from kissing to moaning to broken noises that belong solely to this moment and to them. 

“Ben-” she says, desperate to tell him that it is too much, that surely nothing is supposed to feel this good or this intense, but she cannot, because a moment later it crashes over her. She imagines she can see the stars. That she becomes scattered into nothingness and will never be put back together again.

It is the highest of high.

She forgets how to breathe.

How to exist.

How they came to be here.

When she comes back down to herself it is a slow process. A slow awareness. Her body is weary, as if all the tension and energy has been stolen from her. As her heart slowly down, she finds her mind blissfully empty and her soul rejoices at the reprise.

This is it.

The relaxation that he mentioned.

Here in the water as their eyes meet she seems to understand it finally. 

“I did not know anything could ever feel so good,” she admits. Feeling almost foolish for admitting it, but there is a soft haze in her mind, and it makes it easier to say these things. 

“I can make you feel more than that,” he assures her.

A promise almost.

One that she plans to hold him up to.

“Though perhaps not here.”

The coolness of the water a reminder now of how long they’ve spent in the water. 

She cannot help agree with him, feeling her lips tilt up into a smile as she says, “Perhaps, we should move to our bed.”


End file.
